Retrieved from Within
by Grac3
Summary: Part sixteen of the Angel!Verse. After two hundred years of rampaging through the universe in a grief-stricken haze, the Doctor meets someone from his future who was sent back to make sure that his timeline follows the right path. Oneshot (with a prologue). Episode tag: Post-The Angels Take Manhattan / Post-The Day of the Doctor/Pre-Rose. See warnings inside.
1. Prologue

**A.N.:** So, this story is a bit weird; it's not really a twoshot (though it will have two chapters), but more like a oneshot with a prologue. This story serves to close a time loop that I began in Parallels and Perpendiculars, so this prologue is set a few hours after the events of Bright and Colourless, while the oneshot part of the story (or next chapter) will be set two hundred years after Parked on Pluto.

**Warnings:** Slash, implied nudity, spoilers up to and including The Angels Take Manhattan

**Series summary:** The TARDIS doesn't always take the Doctor where he wants to go, but it always takes him where he needs to go; Time Lords hold a secret behind their backs, and they have a duty to follow.

**Disclaimer: Don't own Doctor Who**

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><p>Prologue<p>

_One, two, three four._

_One, two, three, four._

A warm smile touched the Doctor's lips as the familiar rhythm that he had missed so much pounded against his arm. His lips curled upwards lazily as the last vestiges of sleep began to leave his mind, but he had no desire to open his eyes just yet. The place in which he found himself was warm and comfortable, and he wished to prolong the moment as long as he could.

His bed was soft as he lay upon it for the first time in a long time; he couldn't recall where he had spent the few hours here and there that he had spent trying to reach a state of slumber that seemed to constantly evade him ever since he had lost the three people who had always been closest to him during this life, but it certainly hadn't been anywhere in this room.

Yet he hadn't lost everything, as he had originally thought; against the odds, the one who always seemed to make a comeback had done exactly that once again – and now they were lying next to him, and suddenly the Doctor was attacked by the incredibly powerful desire to look at them.

The two of them were sprawled out across the bed, covered only from their waists down by the thin sheet that the Doctor kept on his bed (the temperature controls in the TARDIS made it so that it would never be cold in there, unless something was wrong with the ship). The Doctor was lying on his front, his head turned to the right and facing his companion, one arm reaching out across his chest and his right wing draped over his body – his left pinion was hanging off of the edge of the bed.

When he peeled his eyes open, he saw that the Master had yet to open his eyes. Both of the shorter Time Lord's lightning pinions were stretched out behind him, drooping off of the edge of the bed even though he was lying as far back on his back as he could. His face, too, was angled towards the Doctor, and the taller Time Lord realised just how peaceful the Master looked now, both in sleep and in sanity.

The Master's hearts were beating lazily beneath the Doctor's arm, pounding against the limb in a familiar and comfortable beat. It had been so long since they had been able to just enjoy moments like this; probably since before either of them had left Gallifrey.

Not bothering to resist the urge as it came to him, the Doctor reached up with his hand to the Master's face, tracing the pad of his index finger ever-so-gently across the shorter Time Lord's cheekbone. He barely ghosted over the soft skin of the blonde's face, but it was enough to draw the Master from his slumber.

The Master's brow creased adorably as he stirred, a small, barely audible hum emanating from his throat. Brown eyes slid open to meet the Doctor's, and the Doctor's grin widened to an almost painful point. The beam was mirrored on the Master's own face, as the Doctor placed his hand back on the Master's shoulder.

"Morning," the Doctor mumbled, finding his voice only slightly weak from hours of non-use.

"Is it?" the Master asked sceptically, mischief dancing in his deep, chocolate irises.

"Oh-" the Doctor began, but the Master let out an earthy chuckle, and all was forgiven.

"Morning," the Master conceded, shifting his hands as they lay in the space between them, underneath the bridge of the Doctor's wing.

The Doctor leaned forward, pressing his lips softly against the Master's and allowed his eyes to slip closed once more. As he pulled back a few seconds after, he found himself greatly grateful that Time Lords rarely suffered from halitosis. He rested his head back down on the pillow, closer to the Master's face that it had been previously.

Yet the peaceful situation was not to last, as a painful twinge ran down the Doctor's back and he grimaced, realising that he couldn't stay in this position.

"Sorry," he mumbled, pushing himself up and turning around so that he was sitting upright with his back resting against the headboard. The Master didn't move at all, except to angle his head upwards so that he could still see the Doctor's face.

The Doctor smiled down at him, reaching around with his wing to brush the last feather against the shorter Time Lord's face, drawing a contented sigh from the blonde's lips.

From his new vantage point, the Doctor could see the complete mess that they had made of his room. Clothes were strewn everywhere from the door to the bed, leaving a physical indicator of the disorganised path that they had taken once they had got inside. The lamp on the Doctor's bedside table had been knocked to the floor, and was covered modestly with one of the Doctor's socks.

At the end of the bed, the Master's jeans had been dumped in a haphazard pile, the psychic paper that he had taken from Jo still sticking out of the pocket.

The Doctor allowed himself to feel an intense feeling of gratitude that things had worked out for the two of them, even though – as the Master had said – they only really had this one night together. It seemed so strange that the entire scenario – from the Doctor going to see Jo, to the Master finding out that the Doctor had hidden himself away on a cloud in his depression – hung on the single, humble object that was the Doctor's old psychic paper, now sitting so innocently on the end of the Doctor's bed…

The smile on the Doctor's face faltered as his head began to feel strange; as though pressure was building inside his skull.

"Doctor?" he heard the Master ask, concerned, but the Doctor was too far gone to pay attention.

_"__You have to forget that this ever happened for now, Doctor. Bury it in the depths of your memory."_

_"__When will I remember?"_

_"__When you need to."_

"Doctor!"

He was brought back to reality by the Master's frantic cry, and – when his vision returned to the present time – he realised that he had blacked out, and was now lying across the pillows of his double bed with the Master hovering over him, a worried expression painted on the blonde's face.

"What was that?" the Master sighed, concern flickering in his deep brown eyes.

The Doctor reached up to the Master's face, cupping his cheek in his palm as he blinked the blurriness away from his vision and brought his now ragged breathing back under control.

The Doctor licked his lips, letting out a small sigh as he prepared himself to answer.

"I just remembered something I have to do."


	2. Retrieved from Within

**A.N.:** This is the last part of a mini-trilogy that I've been working on during the Angel!Verse, from Wrapped in Feathers to Parked on Pluto, and now Retrieved from Within. I've also tentatively referred to it as Phase 2 (Phase 1 being the stories from Hall of Mirrors to Bright and Colourless).

**A.N.:** This chapter has two time-settings: in the Doctor's personal timeline, this is set just before the events of Rose; in River's personal timeline, this is set after The Angels Take Manhattan, and just before she goes to the Library.

**Warnings:** Spoilers for A Good Man Goes to War

**Disclaimer: Don't own Doctor Who (or the line from _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_)**

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><p>Chapter 1 – Retrieved from Within<p>

The door to the TARDIS was open. Not open enough that any Tom, Dick or Harry would have been able to just waltz in, but merely slightly ajar.

The Doctor could see that there had been an intrusion into his impenetrable ship from where he was standing, all the way on the other side of the road, and it made him wonder.

It had not been the first time that someone had managed to sneak onto his supposedly deadlocked ship, but it was certainly the first time that someone had done it without being absolutely covert about it. They had always left the ship looking exactly as he had left it, and waited for him inside so that they could perform their intended malicious act against either him or the TARDIS.

This, however, was different; they had left the door ajar – they wanted him to _know_ that there was someone inside the TARDIS that shouldn't have been there.

The Doctor walked up to the ship, going mostly unnoticed by those passing by, and pressed his palm against the door that was slightly open, pushing it lightly so that he could slip inside.

At first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary inside the control room as he closed the door of the TARDIS behind him. Everything was as he had left it, and as it had been during the two hundred years that he had spent travelling on his own since the use of his wings had been taken from him by the Jelvun. That was, except for one, tiny, minute detail.

"Hello, sweetie."

There was a woman leaning against the control panel, with wild, curly hair and a smirk on her face.

A woman who had two black pinions protruding from her back – no matter how flimsy they seemed to be compared to his own.

A woman who had just called him 'sweetie'.

"Who are you?" the Doctor demanded, taking a step closer to her – though for some reason, he was slightly weary of getting _too_ close.

The woman pushed herself off of the control panel so that she was standing upright. "Professor River Song," she answered confidently; "I'm from your future."

"Then you shouldn't be here," the Doctor answered curtly, striding up to the control panel and pushing a button to open the doors of the TARDIS. He held out his arm to gesture to the open door. "Off you pop."

The smirk did not fade from River's face at the dismissal; she merely took hold of one of the levers on the other side of the control panel and pulled it down – the doors closed again.

The Doctor's arm fell back down to his side with a _slap_ as he stared at the lever in disbelief.

"That lever doesn't do anything," he mumbled, confused.

"Yes, it does," River parried, "it closes the door."

The Doctor blinked slowly, raising his gaze from the lever to River. "Since when?"

"Since always," River shrugged, and the Doctor let out an exhale through his nostrils to prevent himself from shouting at her.

"And how do you know that?" he asked slowly, working hard to keep his voice level.

"The same way that I got into this ship in the first place."

The Doctor watched her, slightly confused, before he realised what she was saying. He had assumed that she had got into the ship with the use of a key – a theory which was strengthened by her saying that she knew him in the future, however unlikely it was that he knew anyone in the future; he had forsaken relationships of any kind with any other living thing except the TARDIS, and he found it rather difficult to believe that he would change his mind about that at any point in his future of indeterminate length.

Yet now, as he took a closer look at this Professor River Song, he realised that she wasn't wearing a chain around her neck: she didn't have a TARDIS key.

The Doctor was well aware that it wasn't a good idea to get involved with finding out one's personal future – bad things happened to wizards who mess with time, and all that – but the niggling desire to _know_ was weighing far too heavily on his mind for him to not pursue that course of action.

"Who are you?" he asked again.

River smirked once more, walking slowly around the console until she was standing just a few feet away from him. The Doctor turned to face her fully, crossing his arms over his chest as he prepared to listen to what she had to say.

"In the future, you will have two companions: Amy Pond and Rory Williams. They will marry, they will have a child." River spread her arms. "I am that child."

"And you are a time traveller," the Doctor added, as River lowered her arms once more. "That doesn't explain how you got into the TARDIS."

An almost shy smile touched River's lips – though the Doctor didn't really think that there was anything about this woman that could be described as 'shy'.

"I… began on this ship," she explained slowly, "while in flight, in the Time Vortex."

At first, the Doctor didn't quite understand what she was saying; when realisation dawned, suddenly, his eyes widened and he coughed awkwardly as he tried to fight the furious blush that was beginning to rise up his cheeks.

"Oh, I, er… I see," he mumbled, finding himself momentarily unable to look at River in the eye. "Child of the TARDIS. Got it." He let out a huff of breath, bringing his embarrassment under control before moving on to his next line of questioning. Suddenly the wings were far more apparent…

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"Because you told me to."

The Doctor found himself rather perplexed at that; this woman didn't seem to be the type of person who would just do as she was told, even if the order or request was coming from the Doctor.

Yet River seemed to sense his confusion, and clarified for him.

"You and I will have a deeper relationship than merely that of Doctor and daughter-of-companions," she smirked.

A not inconsiderable amount of panic began to well up in the Doctor's veins at that. He gulped nervously and queried in a small voice, "H-how deep?"

River answered by lifting her left hand, and the Doctor's hearts both skipped a beat when he saw that she wore a wedding ring.

"Oh…" he drawled, lowering his arms and leaning against the control panel as he suddenly became weak at the knees.

River chuckled as she lowered her hand back down to her side.

"So… in the future, I tell you to go back in time and tell me that we'll be married someday?" the Doctor asked, sceptical, as he recovered from his shock.

"Oh, of course not; well… not _just_ to do that."

The Doctor let out a deep breath, his fright at the implication that River had given him as to _their_ future together giving way to irritation. It didn't matter who this woman was to him in the future; right now, she was a pain in the arse and he just wanted to get her off of his ship.

"Then what _are_ you here for?" he snapped, standing up straight and balling his fists at his sides.

"There's something you have to do," River told him, and the Doctor snorted. "Something that will lead to you meeting me, eventually. Surely you must remember the importance of keeping the timelines intact?" Her eyes flickered to the wings that stretched out at either side of him.

The Doctor pursed his lips together. Ever since the destruction of Gallifrey, he had stopped interfering in the affairs of the universe. No longer had he got involved, even when it was needed, for surely no problem was big enough that it would need a monster like him to solve it.

"I don't do that anymore," he told her sternly, leaning forward slightly in an attempt to intimidate her – though he had a feeling that it would take a lot more than that to intimidate River Song.

"Don't you?" River asked. "What about the Daniels family? You saved their lives."

The Doctor remembered the Daniels family; he had met them in 1912, and they had got along well – so well, in fact, that he almost forgot about the horrors that he had committed during the Time War.

When he had found out that they had tickets to board the Titanic, he had completely panicked. He couldn't lose anyone else – so he had stopped them from going and then left them, so that he couldn't cause them any trouble or danger like he had so many of the others that he had allowed into his life.

"They were alright," he grumbled, with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"Or," River countered, "a part of you was thinking of Noah Daniels: the man who designed and built the spaceship that Susie Fontana Brooke's voyage to Proxima Centauri. That wouldn't have happened without your intervention, and the whole course of the history of humanity would have been changed completely."

The Doctor began to feel a niggling in his stomach, but had no time to give it any serious thought before River continued.

"Or what about the Shadow Proclamation? You spent _years_ fixing that, and it was in – what was the word – tatters?"

The Doctor opened his mouth to retaliate, but was cut short at River's choice of words.

Tatters.

_Tatters_.

The Doctor's eyes flickered to the Vortex Manipulator on River's wrist, as the pieces of the puzzle began to click together in his head.

"It was you," he realised, straightening himself up again as his eyes widened. "In the capsule, on Venus. You were standing behind K'An and his bodyguards."

River smiled. "Guilty as charged."

The Doctor sighed, resigning himself to the situation. If River was that influential on his timeline, it would almost certainly be foolish to ignore her. He huffed silently at the man who he would become in the future – the man who would marry this woman and then inflict her upon him – but decided to listen to her anyway.

"What do I need to do?" he asked in a disgruntled monotone.

River smiled. "There's an Auton invasion in London in 2005. You need to stop it."

"Right," the Doctor mumbled, turning to the console and preparing to leave – River could go anywhere from London with her Vortex Manipulator, so he wasn't too bothered about her.

"And you might want to make use of this."

The Doctor turned his head back to River as the familiar sounds of the TARDIS taking off filled the control room, and saw that she was holding something out to him: a brown flip-case that looked as though it had seen better days.

Tentatively, he reached out for the case, taking it from his future wife and flipping it open. Inside was a piece of paper that he instantly recognised as being psychic. One word flashed upon the paper quickly in, what he assumed to be River's handwriting, before disappearing.

"'Fantastic'?" he asked, looking up from the psychic paper to River with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Okay, there are two things you might want to make use of," River corrected herself. "One day, you're going to lose that, and a time loop will begin."

The Doctor looked from the psychic paper to the professor with furrowed brows, before thanking River with a nod of his head, and pocketing the paper in his leather jacket.

But then he remembered something important.

"You're promoting my guarding the timelines," he began, "but surely this is a paradox? I can't meet you and know who you are before I've met you."

River let out a small chuckle. "You have to forget that this ever happened for now, Doctor," she explained. "Bury it in the depths of your memory."

The Doctor realised that he had been half-expecting her to say something like that; if he could create a bubble in his head in which to store this memory, he could keep it locked away in his subconscious until he needed to recall the events of this day – and, until such time as that bubble burst, it would be to him as though this had never happened.

Yet there was still an issue with that: if he never knew that there was something in his head that he would one day need to recall, he wouldn't know that he was supposed to recall it.

"When will I remember?" he asked.

"When you need to," River answered simply.

"Well," the Doctor began, as he brought the TARDIS in to land in 2005 London, "you'd better leave so I can forget you, then."

"I don't have to leave _straight_ away," River grinned, and the Doctor could see mischief dancing in her eyes as she moved ever-so-slowly closer to him. The familiar sense of panic that he was beginning to subconsciously associate with the woman in front of him welled up within him again, until she finished her proposal. "How about we shave that beard off first?"

The Doctor resisted the urge to let out a deep sigh of relief that that was River's only intention and reached up to his chin, running his hand over the stubble there – that's what you get for not shaving for two hundred years because you couldn't bear to look at yourself in the mirror.

"Yeah, alright," he agreed, following a grinning River Song into the depths of the TARDIS – to get his life started back on track again.

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><p><strong>A.N.2:<strong> This story has one of my personal headcanons in it; that the Ninth Doctor spent about two hundred years after he regenerated from the War Doctor travelling around the universe in a grief-induced haze that he doesn't really remember that much about once he's got his life back on track when he meets Rose. I just think that Nine had some kind of a life before he met Rose, because he had to have time to save the Daniels family and go to Krakatoa...

**A.N.3:** I saw a picture of Christopher Ecclestone with a beard, and I just had to include in this story that Nine has a beard. I mean, if he's been around for two hundred years already and he hasn't looked in a mirror for all that time, he can't have shaved...

**A.N.4:** I'm actually going to take a break from the Angel!Verse for a while, because I'm working on another series at the moment that's a crossover between Doctor Who and Thor/Avengers called Loki and the Doctor. I'll probably return to the Angel!Verse when I'm done with that (which only has ten stories in it altogether, so I might be done with it quite soon), and when I come back (which I will) I'll be working through the third phase of the Angel!Verse which I have referred to in my notes as Russel T-era Revisited. Basically, stories set in the first three series with the Ninth Doctor.


End file.
